J
They feel so real. That's why I can't shake them.
The nightmares are something I was used to when I hadn't come to terms with the reality.
My mother's gone.
She died years ago.
I remind myself once again and blow across the top of the full cup of tea in my hands, but it's no longer hot, it's barely lukewarm. I've only just now realized I must have been holding it for a while without even taking a single sip. I'm slow to set the cup down on the end table and then reach for the blanket. My fingers grip on to the soft woven fabric like it can save me. Just as I used to think when I was a child.
My mother's gone.
She died years ago.
It was hard to say the words back then, but I have to keep saying them now.
Not because I don't believe them, but because every time I fall asleep now, she's there, haunting me and saying things that scare me. Things she knows would put true fear into my heart. She's reminding me of memories I've long buried.
She's angry and wants revenge for what happened. I can feel it. Her killer joining her six feet in the dirt isn't enough justice. She's starved for more. A taste of his blood wasn't enough.
When I wake up breathless and terrified by how realistic the dreams are, I can feel the weight of her hand gripping my arm, but no sane person would believe me. I would just sound crazy.
I'm going crazy. I know that's what they'd say and as I pull my knees into my chest on the sofa, I struggle to deny it. I'm fucking insane.
All I can think, is that whatever Lisa gave me is fucking with my head. I can't sleep without seeing her, without feeling her. I swear the scratch on the back of my neck is from her.
I don't want to go to sleep. I only took the sweets, as Lisa calls it, that one time, but I've been so fucked up since then. Although, so much more has happened since then too.
My fingers press into my tired eyes, feeling the burning need to sleep and I remember how I woke up last night, sweating, crying, my throat raw as if I'd been screaming. I prayed like I'd never prayed before and when I whispered for someone to help me, I felt the coldness of her presence. As the chill traveled up my spine, I swear I heard my mother whisper, "I am."
A sudden knock at the door has my heart galloping in my chest. Two days of not sleeping but also not knowing what to do has left me jolting at every sudden sound.
"Jen," I hear Lisa's voice call out through the front door and she knocks again as she says, "Open up."
Just hearing her voice is calming, and I easily swing my legs down and listen to my bare feet pad across the floor as I go to unlock the door and let her in.
I swing open the door without even looking in the small mirror in the hall to see if I look presentable. I'm sure I look like hell, and I wouldn't keep her waiting, so it doesn't matter anyway.
With her hand still raised to knock again, we both stand there for a moment, waiting for the other to say something. I swallow thickly, feeling the nervousness rise up again. She's never taken so long to say anything before.
"You look like you're ready for me to drag you to bed," she finally tells me and then steps inside, not waiting for me to invite her in.
"If you're lucky, I'd let you." I try to make it sound like a joke, but at this point, I would. "I feel like I'm going to fall over," I tell her groggily and turn my back on her to saunter back to the living room, but she grabs my wrist as she kicks the door shut behind her.
It closes with a click.
"What?" I ask her, staring pointedly where her fingers are wrapped possessively around my wrist. "I wasn't serious. You aren't dragging me anywhere."
Keeping my face deadpan, she cracks a smile and then I mirror hers, a small simper of a smile, but it doesn't reflect anything that I feel.
"You okay?" she asks me.
Blowing a lock of hair away from my face and straightening the strap of the tank top on my shoulder I nod and ask, "What's going on?" No matter how much I want to tell someone about my nightmares, I refuse to speak the words out loud. It would only make me sound unhinged.
"The cops wanted to know why I came to see you."
Cops. That was the last thing I wanted to hear. My stomach drops, as does my gaze and I pick under my nails to distract myself.
"How would they even know?" I ask her without thinking, but if I'd just let it sink in for one second, I'd know better. Everyone here is crooked, everyone knows everything. It was the only good advice my mother ever gave me. If you keep that in mind, you'll be all right.
"Ignore me," I tell her absently and rub the tiredness from my eyes as I walk to the sofa. I plunk back down into my cozy seat and pull the throw blanket around me again.
When I peek up at Lisa, she's eyeing me with a look I can't place. "What did you tell them?" I ask her to get the attention away from me.
"Well, I had to tell a white lie."
"What did you say?" I whisper and fight off the yawn that threatens.
"I told them you meant something to me and I was just checking in on you."
It's quiet for a moment as I take in her words. I have to remind myself of what she said. Me meaning anything to her is a white lie. The thought makes my fingers ball into a fist under the blanket.
"Okay," is all I give her as I sit there, with my neck craned so I can stare up at her as she stands in front of me.
"And now they think we may be a thing." Her eyes assess me, and if I wasn't so tired, I would blush, practically ignite like I've done before. But right now, all I can think is how she said it was a white lie.
I almost ask her what a white lie means, so she can tell me to my face in blunt terms that I don't mean anything to her. Instead, I just ignore it all and focus on a pounding ache that grows in my temple.
"What's in that stuff you gave me?" I ask her a question that's been nagging at the back of my head.
"Nothing serious." Her forehead creases as she answers me. "Why?"
"It feels serious to me," I tell her. although my heart beats rapidly, begging me not to push her away with my insanity.
The moment passes, and with the silence, the tension grows.
"What happened?" she asks me. "Are you sick?" The concern in her voice is so genuine that I nearly tell her to be careful, that everyone will see that I mean something to her. But the spite and jabs from her white lie comment mean nothing to me right now.
She's here. She's listening to me. Whether she realizes it or not, I know I mean something to her. So, I couldn't care less if that's what the cops think. I couldn't care less about people running their mouths or any of that right now.
There's only one thing haunting me at this moment.
"I'm just…" I trail off and swallow thickly, burying the words in my throat.
"When's the last time you took it?" she pushes for more information as she takes the seat next to me, making the old sofa groan with her weight. She sits closer to me than I sat to her last time. She's so close, I can still feel that heat that lingers on her shirt from the summer sun.
"I only took it the one night." I look up into her steely blue eyes and watch the grey flecks mesmerize me as I add, "The night I texted you."
"You're supposed to take it every night, Jen. It doesn't stay in your system for long."
"Are you sure?" I ask her quickly. "Because it feels like it's still in my system."
The sofa protests as I readjust in my seat to face her more and she asks, "Have you been sleeping?"
I only nod with a small frown gracing my lips as my chest tightens with worry. "I don't want to though," I whisper the confession.
"Jen," she scolds me, immediately running the middle finger and thumb of her right hand down her temples. Her hand covers her eyes as she does it.
"Don't do that," I bite back, not hiding the sadness and disappointment at her reaction. "I'm not a child and I'm not okay." Although my voice wavers, I say the words as strongly as I can.
She lets out a heavy breath as her hand drops to her side and my eyes plead with her to understand.
"I'm afraid. I'm dreaming these things..." I gulp down the confession and settle on a simple truth as I conclude, "and it's not okay. I think it's what you gave me."
"You think the sweets has something to do with what you're dreaming about?" she asks me, and I can only nod with a tension in my stomach that threatens to make me sick. "Tell me," she says, and her command is soft and comforting. As if confiding in her will make it all go away. "Tell me what's got you worked up like this."
"It's my mother," I tell her and struggle to confess to her that every time I drift to sleep, I relive the hell that existed before she died. Every memory I've shut away and buried with her is back. "I feel crazy because the nightmares are so real." I can feel myself breaking down and the moment Lisa notices, both of her hands are on me. One on my thigh, rubbing back and forth and the other on my shoulder. I'm in a sleep shirt that comes down to my knees, my legs covered by the blanket. Her right hand though is touching my bare skin. The rough pad of her thumb rubs soothing circles against my collarbone and I lean into it. I've never felt the need to be touched so gently before. The need to be held.
If I had even a hint that she'd still respect me after, I'd climb into her lap right now.
"It's all right." Her voice is strong, but also frustrated and it reminds me of that day back in high school. She's barely keeping it together as she takes me in.
"I'm sorry." I don't know what else to do other than apologize. "I don't want to be this way," I plead with her to understand. "I think when I drank the—"
"It's not the sweets. It's what's going on around us. This shit is bringing up old memories. The drug is just a knockoff pharmaceutical. Most people don't even know about it. It's like any other sleep med, Jen. A friend gave it to me to sell, but no one buys sleep meds off the street."
"You don't understand," I tell her.
"Make me understand."
I think long and hard about exactly how to explain it. It's not an old memory. These terrors are so real and lifelike, they don't leave me when I wake up. "I'm scared," is all I can say, and the confession comes out as a whisper.
"I want you to come spend the night with me," Lisa speaks like it's a request, but it's not. I can hear it in her voice and along with the shock is something else.
Desperation.
I can't move, thinking I've misheard her. All I can do is stare into her eyes and listen to every single beat of my heart.
"It's in my best interest to keep an eye on you," she tells me slowly and then licks her lower lip. It's slow and sensual but there's something else there like she can't quite figure something out. "You look like you could use some company. It'll do us both good."
She gives me five minutes to gather a few things. It hardly takes me that long as I toss my toiletries on top of a stack of folded clean clothes and grab my purse. That's it. I don't bother with anything else.
We're not driving far, but even so, the car ride is quiet in a way that absorbs my every thought. Lisa Manoban… and me. Maybe one day I'll wake up and all of this will be a dream. Or maybe one day, she'll come with me and we can run away from this nightmare.
"Haven't you ever thought about leaving?" I let the internal thought wander to my lips as I rest my cheek against the car window. The hum of the engine and the gentle vibrations threaten to lure me to sleep, but I fight it.
"You don't think I want to leave too?" she asks me, taking her eyes from the road to look at me. I don't answer, I just take her in, right here at this moment. The strength that is Lisa Manoban, veiled with the secret that she'd rather run away. My heart hurts for her in this instant; I always thought she ran this city and that she thrived because of it. How foolish I was. I realize that now as she tells me, "When you figure out where you're going to run to, let me know."